One Lonely Shoe
by nefret24
Summary: Josh. Donna. A malicious filing cabinet. An embassy ball. Articles of clothing, specifically shoes, gone missing. Really bad celebrity impressions. In other words, good times for all. Sort of. A complete slightly silly, Cindrellaish story. Reviews welcome
1. Once Upon a Time...

Not Exactly Prince Henry: A West Wing Fairytale

One Lonely Shoe: A West Wing Fairytale

Disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters, plots, dialogue, etc of the West Wing. So show credit where credit is due, which is somewhere else- namely at the altar of the Almighty Banter King Aaron Sorkin, not here. Mere amusement. No profit. Yadda yadda yadda.

Category: Josh/Donna. Yeah, overdone- especially by me- but I can't help it! 

Feedback: Puh-puh-puh-leeeeeeeeeaaaaaase! (insert Roger Rabbit sound effect here)

Archiving: Cool, just ask.

Summary: A spin off of a fairy-tale, a running gag about a file cabinet, another one of those embassy ball things that fan fic writers love so much, Josh N Donna. 'nuff said.

Spoilers: Only little ones for: ITSOTG, The Lame Duck Congress, Noel, Ellie, The Portland Trip. Probably some others too at one point

Author's Note: Very late one Wednesday night (or should I say very early one Thursday morning) I ended up watching Ever After and was inspired. Here are the results- for better or worse. No MS crisis in this one-- way too complicated and sad.but let's still say second seasoni.e flirty banter but still basically in denial. This is for those in the writers' "lull" right now- know how you feel. 

***

"Where's your other shoe?" 

I suppose I could start there- but to get the full effect, I think you'll need some background. Actually, a lot of background. It still might not make any sense, actually I'm pretty sure it makes no sense at all. And to tell the truth, I'm still fuzzy as to all the details myself, but it's only fair. 

So, gather round kiddies, I'm going to tell you a story. It begins with a man who was still a boy in many, **many**, _many _ways. 

***

"DON-NAAAAAAA!" 

"You bellowed, Joshua?" She peeked her head into my office, her arms filled with file folders. 

"I-I did not bellow." I am the Deputy Chief of Staff to the President of the United States. I do not bellow. I speak distinctly and from the diaphragm. The walls simply carry the sound as if I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Damn architects. 

"Josh, do you need something or were you simply bellowing for bellowing's sake?" 

She was impatiently flipping through the top folder- I suppose that's cuz I had just given her a shit load of things to do right before she was supposed to go to lunch. I'm a bastard- yeah- but a **loveable** bastard. And that makes all the difference in the world. 

Then I knew I was in deep shit when she started glaring at me. 

"My file cabinet's sticking again." I pointed to the offender in question.

"And what? You couldn't un-jam it yourself?" 

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. That was _not_ how the proper assistant responds: what she should have said was "Oh, Josh, I will get on it right away- let me help you in any way I can. By the way, do you need a refill on that coffee?" 

A guy could wish. 

"I have a delicate system." There, take that Donnatella. Eat crow. 

"You tried already and hurt yourself again, didn't you?"

I swear she must have a hidden camera hook up or an audio bug or something in my office, cuz she cannot be that psychic. And I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if she had eyes in the back of her head. Yeah. So I started whacking the damn thing when it wouldn't open. I would not be cowed by a piece of office equipment. That is, until its metal tentacles grabbed my hands and viciously scraped them raw. 

"My knuckles will never be the same."

"Uh-huh." She sighed, dumped the folders onto my desk, totally disregarding my efficient and painstakingly set up filing system, i.e. the mess of papers I kept there, and walked over to the cabinet. With a swish of her hips- her hips! God help me!- she whacked the cabinet drawer below the malevolent one while pulling on its evil metallic handle. 

It slid out with ease.

She grinned smugly and left the office with the rest of the files, a spring in her step and no visible scars from the Filing Cabinet of Death. 

I really dislike her sometimes. Yet, if she continues to seduce the Evil One with her hip-wiggles, I really don't mind keeping her around. 

***

Okay, Josh is probably the most helpless of all the men of the West Wing. Only I, of all assistants, get dragged away from my desk to open a filing cabinet. But that wasn't as bad as what happened before I finally went to lunch.

"Josh, I'm going to lunchwhat the hell are you doing?" I quickly popped my head in to dash out for a quick bite and my boss is attacking his filing cabinet with a letter opener. A very sharp, dangerous looking, letter opener. Is he nuts?

The appropriate answer here is: Yes. Very. 

He looked up from his task, and I could almost swear there was perspiration on his brow. He waved the letter opener at me. 

"I'mI'm sharpening this thing." 

Pride goeth before a fall and denial before admitting monumental stupidity and/or being whisked away to the emergency room. 

"Josh"

"Okay, it might have gotten stuck again."

I grabbed the letter opener from him. "No more pointy objects for youever."

"Like anything would've happened."

Uh- hello? I would bet my entire life savings, meager as it is, that something would have happened. That within three minutes I would have heard a scream, seen gushing arteries, and been on the phone with the paramedics. And that's a gimmee. He may be a Fulbright scholar- which quite frankly I will not buy until I see it in writing- but on the common sense scale, he's worse than a kindergartner. 

"Joshua, I am going to lunch, but before I do, must I take away your scissors or will you leave it alone?"

"Are you going to open it for me?" He looked at me soulfully under his eyelashes and I thought I heard him shuffle his feet. I told you- like a kindergartner! And like a kindergartner, cute as hell. Is it any wonder I'm infatuated with this man?

I opened the damn cabinet.

"Thank you."

"Uh-huh. Now will you promise not to antagonize any more office supplies while I'm gone?"

"_That_ is not a normal piece of office equipment," he said, sulkily, gesturing at the cabinet. "That is an evil force put here on earth to torment me."

"Yes, Josh. I am leaving now."

"Fine. Go. When you find me on the floor in a pool of blood, you'll know what did it to me and boy, will you be sorry that in our last moments together, you chose to be patronizing and scoffed at me!"

"Impervious."

And I left then and there. That's not to say that I wasn't preoccupied all lunch long with whether or not Josh actually would end up in a pool of blood in his office- not the filing cabinet's fault of course- but his brainless attempts to open it in violent ways. 

So my lunch was short. Big deal. 

Josh lived for another day. Isn't that what counts?

***

Leo and I are generally on the same wavelength. That's why this country runs so smoothly: because the Chief of Staff and his Deputy are jivin' to the same band. That, and I'm really good at what I do. I'll even concede that Leo is too- because it's the truth. But unfortunately, that day not the day that we were at our best and our rhythm was a bit off kilter. 

We might have offended the Czech ambassador because somebody- I name no names- might have thought it was inconsequential as to whether or not he actually got to meet with the President. 

This someone thought that it was more important for the President to travel to Cleveland and speak out about school vouchers and how much they suck.

This someone therefore saw no problem with scheduling the two for the exact same time and hoping that the ambassador wouldn't notice. 

Well, he did. And he was kinda pissed. And then, so was Leo. 

Because it was quite possible that this someone was me. 

Now, since Leo and I are psychically connected in highly complex ways where strategy is concerned, he expressed no objection when I brought this up. And no reprimands when it was scheduled and no disapproval when Air Force One took off. 

On that particular day, however, after the ambassador had made an appearance in Leo's office wherein he, I suppose, was cursing vehemently in Czech, well Leo had someconcerns.

"Who's bonehead idea was this?" And _he_ bellowed. 

"Sir, frankly he-"

"Josh"

"Okay, it was mine. But waiting a few more months to make this policy initiative is like waiting for the iceberg to move out of the way for the Titanic!" Yep. Another great Lyman simile there. Well, maybe not on the same scale as my Disney-Epcot analogy but distinctly, 100 percent Joshua Lyman: oratory with style. 

Leo is not amused. "I certainly didn't aim for an international incident to ensue over this!"

"Does it matter? What can he do? It's not like they're stockpiling nukes in Cesky Krumlov!"

"Yeah. This is not good."

"Uh-huh."

"The President's not going to like this. He's not going to want to come back after another one of his short trips- running purely on caffeine and no sleep- to a rabid Czechoslovakian with a stick up his ass."

"Yep." Didn't I tell you: me, master of the verbal arts. Wait, wait- **I** master of the verbal arts. And I can use an "an" properly too

"We'll set up a meeting."

"When?"

"Good question." Shuffling some papers in search of his intercom, he failed and finally shouted, "Margaret!"

She appeared in the doorway, clutching files so tightly she would probably leave nail marks. Guess I knew what kind of mood **he** had been in all day. 

"Yes?"

"Get me the President's schedule for the rest of the week."

She shuffled out and quickly returned with some papers. After handing them to Leo, she walked out.

"What's with her?" I asked in all innocence. Truly. If there's one thing I know about Margaret, other than the fact that she's Donna's friend and is a slightly paranoid and majorly weird lady, is that she talks a lot. Babbles, in point of fact. And she said all of one word to us.

"She's angry about the embassy thing."

"What embassy thing?"

"The ball for the president of Philippines," he remarked off handedly, scanning the papers. 

"Oh. That embassy thing. Why?"

"She holds a personal grudge against Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo."

Okay- a sarcastic Leo is better than a pissed-at-Josh Leo. I was still confused and I'm sure that Leo saw my "I have no clue what the hell you're talking about" face. He sighed. 

"She can't come- she has to babysit her sister's kids or something. She wanted me to reschedule it."

"Can you do that?"

"No."

"Then why.?

"Because it's Margaret, and who the hell knows why she thinks what she does!"

Then, I was inspired. That happens to me a lot- being quite the savvy political operative that I am. "Can we double up?"

"The embassy thing?"

"Yeah- can we schmooze both the Philippines and the Czechs at once?"

"It would be touchy."

"It would be weird as hell but does he have time to fit the guy in elsewhere?"

"Not really- unless we could persuade him to take five minutes between a meeting with OSHA and his security briefing on Thursday"

"They really don't have much in common, do they? The Philippines and the Czech Republic, that is"

"Not at all- but I suppose we could make that their problem. Margaret!"

She reappeared in the doorway, hands on her hips. Yeah, okay, she's a bit miffed. 

"Call the Czech ambassador back- invite him to the embassy ball on Friday night."

I could swear I saw Margaret flare her nostrils in annoyance. If she had been a dragon, I bet I would have seen smoke trail out of them with a snort. Kinda reminded me of Donna- but then, when Donna's pissed at me, she verbally abuses me. And sometimes whacks me upside the head with file folders. Or pinches my ears 

"Anything else?" she says, clipping her words. Oh, she's pissed all right. 

"Tell him he gets his fifteen minutes with the President."

"Yeah." 

As she leaves, I look back to Leo. "Well, that was awkward."

"Uh-huh. Do you think I should"

"No, no, no. Leo, you're on your own. The dealings between a man and his assistant is a very fragile thing."

"Speaking of assistants, were you planning on taking Donna to the embassy ball?"

What??? I was shocked, shocked, I say, to hear Leo say this. I mean, we all know that Joey and Sam have their ridiculous notions about me and Donna, but Leo?

"I wasn't even planning on going."

"You're going."

"But Leo"

"You're going because you screwed up and got us in this mess in the first place."

"It's another white tie thing. I hate white tie things."

"You are going to wear the white tie and you are going to do your utmost not to offend anyone while you're there. Bring a date, don't get drunk and for god's sake, don't talk to the Czech ambassador."

And he dismissed me as I was expostulating my concerns. 

And I had lots of concerns. Many, many, many concerns. I had a veritable plethora of concerns. 

Concern number one: the white tie issue. The last time that I was actually forced to go to a white tie function was the Congressional Christmas Party. Yep- way back then. And the only decent white shirt that I own that goes so well with my one of my only nice suits, still has the bloodstains on it from my hand and its brief run-in with the window. I don't think they're gonna come out in the wash. When the hell am I going to have time to buy a new shirt? The stupid thing is in three days. Maybe I can cover them up. 

Concern number two: a date. Leo said bring a date. Nono, what he said was "am I bringing Donna?" and then he said bring a date. Did he mean bring Donna as a date? 

If that isn't a scary thought. 

It's not that she isn't attractive. Or intelligent or all other good things that generally are appealing and cause men to ask women out. It's that she's my assistant and people around here think we have a thing. 

I don't think we have a thing. 

At least, I'm pretty sure we don't have a thing. 

To tell you the truth, I know we have **some**thing, I'm just not sure that it is what people think it is. 

Donna as my date? No. That would officially cross over into "weird" territory. I cannot cross over into "weird" territory with a person that I have to see everyday. It would bewell, weird. 

I could hear a voice in my head mockingly reminding me about that Fulbright scholarship. Uh-huh. You can't expect my personal thoughts to have the massive vocabulary of my orating style. I am only one man. 

Who got a 760 verbal, baby, yeah!

So back to my concern, it's really more like two- it has subcategories, if I may. Subcategory one is the problem of bringing Donna as a date- which as I have already negated as is "weird" phenomena. And subcategory two which is: find a date.

My social life hadn't been verywell, social in the last two years. Especially of late. Can't exactly win over the ladies from a hospital bed when you look like shit. Well, you can, but it would be purely a pity date and quite frankly, I'm better than that. 

At one point in my life, I had a little black book. I think Mandy must have done something to it cuz I can't seem to locate it. 

I had to find a woman- and fast. 

Concern number three was the neverending notion that I cannot handle my liquor and dammit, I refuse to let the myth stand!

So, I tore my apartment apart looking for my now non-existent little black book and drinking numerous beers to spite the unbelievers in Josh Lyman's stamina. 

I woke up the next morning on the floor of my living room, drooling on my carpet. 

Yeah. 

That showed them.

***

TBC


	2. Day One: Madame Guillotine, What's Your ...

One Lonely Shoe Part 2/

One Lonely Shoe Part 2/? 

Author's Note: I kinda messed with some facts as far as the current Philippine political climate. In case you're interested, the current president (whose name really is Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo) was the first elected official and shortly after she came to power, had the former president arrested and jailed. Many people are protesting her ability to govern and consider her elitist, and she relies on the military to prevent "anarchy." Also, in Zamboanga, three American captives are being held hostage by Muslim extremists. The Philippine government has refused US money and the terrorists claimed to have killed one of the Americans- though this has not been confirmed. They have already executed some Filipinos. The hostage situation continues, as far as I know. I do not intend to offend any one- just merely commenting on a political situation and making it partly fiction. 

***

Margaret is a very excitable gal, and since I am the assistant with the most sang-froid, I am generally appointed to be the one to calm her down.

Okay, I'm not really "appointed." I'm **voted** into doing it. Every time. Alas, we are a democracy. A democracy that consistently, without fail, asks me to be the voice of reason to Margaret's paranoia on almost a daily basis.

Personally, I think Kathy should do it. She has nothing better to do other than steal and snarf down Sam's food. (And yet, I'm the one with the office rep for duplicity. How??? How???)

So off to Leo's office I went but for the grace of God and the Assistants' Democratic Vote. 

Margaret was not fearing for her life. Nor was she heartbroken or in tears. This time, she was royally pissed. 

"I can't go to the embassy ball," she grumbled, hanging up the phone.

"What embassy ball?"

"The embassy ball. You know, white ties, fine cuisine, the President of the Philippines"

"The President of the Philippines?"

"Yep."

"When's he coming?"

"It's a she."

"Pardon moi, when is **she** coming?"

"Friday, for the embassy"

"Ball, yeah, got it. Why can't you go?"

"Well, you see, my sister? You know, the one that lives in Baltimore?" 

I nodded. Margaret only has one sister. When Margaret gets overly upset, she goes into explanation hyperdrive. I settled into a chair. **This** was going to take a while, I had a feeling.

"Well, she and her husband decided to go to Florida to celebrate their anniversary- it's their fourth, no, their fifth whatever, anyway, they're going to leave on Friday and they need me to watch their dog."

"Their dog?" She had to be kidding.

"Sergio, yeah. He's a greyhound. He's huge. He used to run in the races and all, but once he reached a certain age, they put him out to pasture and my sister bought him. Anyway, he gets real nervous when he's not around people and tears up the house and stuff so I have to baby-sit him."

"And you can't leave for a few hours to go to the thing?"

"Not unless I want to redecorate, reupholster and refurbish every room of her house. And Leo the fascist dictator in there does not pay me enough"

"Whoa, whoa, back up. What did Leo do?"

"He scheduled the damn thing."

"The anniversary trip?" I was so confused. This happens to me once Margaret starts going. I lapse in and out of consciousness and become disoriented. Margaret Madness Syndrome, or something akin to that.

"No, the embassy ball. The President set up this thing months ago and specifically left it up to him whether he could have it this week or next week. And he picked"

"This week. Yeah. So what can you do?"

"Nothing. I hate him," she pouted.

"C'mon, he's not that bad. Not as bad as some other bosses around here" I gestured to Josh's office. "Did I tell you about him and the filing cabinet yesterday."

I filled her in on Josh and his battles with the Filing Fiend of Hell, as I heard him curse it later in the afternoon. 

Her spirits were considerably lifted- though she was still smarting over the scheduling conflict.

"Why don't you get somebody else to watch the dog for that night? I mean, it's just a couple hours, right? Pay 'em a few bucks and go to the ball."

"A dog-sitter! That's perfect!" Her face lit up. Then, just as quickly as she had perked up, her countenance drew into a frown. "I don't know any dog-sitters."

"Maybe there's some in the phone book."

We checked. No such luck. 

"How 'bout a neighbor?"

"She has scary neighbors. One of them dances around naked in his living room listening to"

"_I don't want to know_!" Then, a flash of brilliance came upon me. Josh says this happens to him all the time. I guess now I know how it feels. "What about Kathy? Ask her to watch Sergio." Take that, Assistant Democratic Vote!

"She's going."

"What?"

"She already bought a dress. She's going with some guy from accounting."

"She never told me! Nobody even told me there was a thing on Friday!" Out of the loop again. This is what I get for obsessing over Joshua and silly things like making sure he doesn't lose a limb.

"So you're not busy on Friday?" Hope reigned on her face. Damn. Walked straight into that one, didn't I? All righteous indignation and it bit me in the ass. 

I sighed and resigned myself to my fate. A sentence for stupidity. "I'll watch the damn dog."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!!!" she gushed, giving me a big hug. I had to keep reminding myself, "I like dogs" so that I wouldn't throttle her. 

Then she went on and on about some really hot Czech ambassador who was screaming at Leo that morning. He, of course, would be at the goddamn ball. No matter that it wasn't originally for him and that he really had no business being there. He was a hunk and he was going to the ball and I wasn't. I was babysitting a greyhound. I like dogs, I like dogs.

As I was leaving her office, I knew I got screwed. Viva democracy! 

What I wouldn't give to be Socialist. 

And that was how I got a date with Sergio for Friday night. 

***

"You're late!" Donna rushed at me as I was briskly making my way into my office. Give me some credit- for a guy with a massive hangover, I moved pretty damn quick. 

"Yeah, no sh-"

"You have staff in like" she glanced at her watch, "Now. Pretty much now." She yanked my coat off, sending me full force forward into my office. Trying to stumble gracefully, is, by the way, a very difficult thing to do. Somehow I don't think I pulled it off. 

She thrust files at me, screaming all the while. Well, at least, I thought she was screaming. She was probably talking in normal tones, but I was a man on the edge. _Mice_ bellow at me when I get like that. 

"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling your apartment"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know" As I had been dragging myself up from the carpet, I knocked my phone off the hook. I left it there and cursed at it when it made those beeping noises but there was no way in hell I was replacing it. Cuz if I went down, there was no way in hell I would have gotten up again.

She gave me a scrutinizing glare and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Damn. She knew. But then most people with even bad eyesight can tell when I've had one too many. At least, that's the rumor they like to prevaricate. I still hold that she knew because she has some kind of weird ass psychic thing going on. Either that or she's bugged my apartment with the same equipment she's got in my office. 

"Get to staff, now," she ordered.

"Ja, mein damen commandant."

As I shuffled out of my office behind her, she went to her desk and grabbed her coffee mug. "One sip, Joshua."

I smiled. She was broken at last! 

Or not. 

She glared, raised her index finger, and spoke sternly. "One sip. And only enough so your breath doesn't reek of beer when you open your big mouth to explain why you're late to staff." 

I just grinned and took my allowed sip. It was damn good. No matter that I almost choked on it as she shoved me down the hall and wrenched the cup from my hand. That morning I drank from the cup of small victories, my friends.

Yeah. Don't hate me cuz I'm cool like that. 

So I went to staff. 

"How was school vouchers?" I asked sitting down next to Sam. 

"Buried- so we hope," CJ replied.

"We got enough Senators to reject the proposal," Sam said, sipping from his coffee cup. I smugly reminded my growling stomach that I had enough coffee to last me for a while. The Victory Sip!

"Even Greggs will have to admit he lacks the vote, he can step down and we can move on," grumbled Toby. "To more important things. Like the embassy ball." And he glared at me.

The others followed suit. Damn. Leo just sat back in his chair with this smug expression on his face. A You've-Made-Your-Bed-Now-Lie-In-It-Without-Any-Help-From-Me kind of face mixed with a little bit of an Oh-How-I-Enjoy-Watching-You-Squirm grin. 

"Let me just say that none of you thought this was a bad idea when I brought it up." Still glaring. Damn. "We just got vouchers off the agenda! C'mon- it won't be **that** awkward."

"Do you know of any commonalties between the Philippines and the Czech Republic?" Sam asked skeptically. 

"You're gonna have two very important people in a room, with nothing to say to one another except 'move over, it's my turn to talk' as they vie for the President's attention!" CJ balked.

"They can talk about the weather!" I countered. "Don't they both have weather?" 

Okay, maybe not the smartest thing to say. But at least people are no longer yelling at me. CJ was grinning, Sam sipped his coffee silently, and Leo still had on The Face.

Toby sighed. "This is not what I wanted to discuss. We have to bring up the hostage situ-"

Leo cut him off. "I think offending one dignitary per week is enough, don't you? If you bring up the hostage thing, you're gonna piss Arroyo off."

"So we piss her off! She's eating our food, the least we can do is tell her what we think of her!"

And off launched Toby on another one of his- balls are a waste of food without an agenda that potentially offends the guest- spiels. He apparently has no qualms about pissing people off- as long as he's the one who gets to do it. When I do it, it's encroaching into Toby Territory. Or something. 

Anyway, he was ranting about a hostage situation that had taken place months before, when Muslim extremists held a three vacationing Americans hostage and threatened to execute them unless well quite frankly, I'm a bit fuzzy on their motivation. Most things right now are a bit fuzzy. A Sip can only do so much. Anyway, they were vehement, they were nuts and they were fully ready to behead about two dozen Filipinos and our citizens. 

Yeah- and you thought the guillotine was a thing of the past. 

Actually, what kind of instrument they were planning to use on executing them is pretty fuzzy too but I'm sure it would have been nasty. The Muslims were protesting or something whatever. The thing is, the government in its stubborn no-ransom policy wouldn't take our advice, or our assistance, and one of the hostages died. The other two will probably have bad dreams for the rest of their lives. 

And Toby was angry. And remained so. And wants to transfer this anger onto the new president, who quells the protesters in the streets with armed force.

He has this thing for protesters, he really does. A love-hate relationship. One minute they're amateurs who shouldn't be allowed to hold signs and the next, he's willing to jeopardize foreign policy for them. 

I pointed this out to the group. 

Then it was made known that I jeopardize foreign policy unequivocally, every day that they let me speak to someone in importance. Which is probably why they don't let me do that much. 

That, and I've never been very good with languages. 

But then, I don't need to. I speak the International Language.

Yep, that's right. The International Language of _Love_.

Which reminded me that I was a man without a date for a Philippine President roasting on Friday night. 

So maybe I'm not fluent in that either. But hey- the Victory Sip! And I had not yet been mauled by the hunk of scrap metal in the corner of my office. True, I had barely spent two minutes in there so far today, but that's all the time a Filing Cabinet of Death needs to gore a man alive. 

I was alive and well and glowing from coffee that was not mine. 

Everything else would fall into place. 

***

Josh would not stop blathering on about the coffee thing this morning. I swear, no one else but me would put up with this. Anybody else would have murdered him in inventive ways.

Drawn and quartered.

Tarred and feathered.

Chopped into teeny tiny pieces with a letter opener.

That day, quite frankly, I had decided that I would not mind if the filing cabinet eats him alive.

Then, to coin a phrase, I got a bit of my own back. 

Josh was searching for a date. Now, generally this kind of thing would worry me into a state of half jealous- okay more than half jealous- frenzy and I would obsess for days. 

But he can't find one. 

Yeah, I was happy. It was so adorable. Him, tearing his hair out over a date like that. You would have thought it was the Inaugural Ball or something.

He took _me_ to the Inaugural Ball. Well, to be fair, we also worked through most of it, but hey- he took **me. **Because he can't get a date.

Mister I'm So Perfect, I Have Women Fawning Over Me Left and Right, can't get a date. 

Then since I'm kinda one of those fawning women- I'm on the right, by the way- maybe I shouldn't really gloat so much. 

"Why don't you use your normal method?" I had questioned.

"Normal method?" The man was confused beyond belief.

"Oops, I'm sorry, did I just step on your foot?" 

"Oh, that method. Won't work."

"Really? And what earth-shattering occurrence clued you in?"

"Donna, this is serious."

"No, actually it's hilarious."

"I live for your amusement." If he hadn't been so insufferably sarcastic, I would have thought that was a sweet thing to say. But I just sat on the edge of his desk, swinging my legs back and forth as he looked for phone numbers of available females. 

He kept clearing his throat- as if I would take it as a signal to leave. The poor man didn't want to be embarrassed as he pleaded on the phone! So I pretended not to hear and continued to mock him until Sam came in. 

"Hey, Josh, ya busy?"

"He needs a date." I smiled.

"Huh?"

"What do you want, Sam?" sighed Josh. 

"You need a date?" 

"Sam, what do you want?" Sam, unfortunately, can get easily led off track. Damn, and I was having fun watching Josh squirm.

"Toby's ranting about Arroyo again and apparently the President agreed that he had a point."

"Oh God."

"We're doing a verbal reprimand."

"How bad? A warning, a detention or a spanking?" 

"Uh- somewhere between no more TV and no car priveleges."

"Ouch."

"You need a date?"

Big Josh sigh. I decided to respond for him. "For the embassy ball on Friday."

"Oh, yeah. That. Well, what about that girl at the thing" Sam began making gestures and Josh started to make gestures and I lost my grip on the whole conversation. 

"Oh, okay. Fine. What about Donna?" Sam pantomimed at me.

"I am previously engaged," I replied stuffily.

"What?" That shocked him. 

Sam smiled. "That's great." 

"I have a date of sorts"

"Of sorts?" Poor man, his voice cracked. 

"Uh-huh." 

"See, Sam, wouldn't work," he said and I was pretty sure he was trying to cover up some disappointment. Well, I liked to think so. 

"Okay then- well I have a diatribe to write so happy hunting" 

Josh tried to clear his throat again. I guess it goes without saying that I paid absolutely no attention. 

"Uh, Donna, d'ya think you could, like, go do some stuffout there" he gestured to the bull pen, "for awhile. I- I have to make some calls"

"What kind of stuff?"

"Don't you have a memo to type or something?"

"All typed."

"A folder to file?"

"All filed."

"A solitaire record to beat?"

"Beaten it." 

"Look, Miss Over-Achiever, could you get your rear end off my desk and go torment some one else?!"

"Well, there's no need to get hostile."

"I do **not** get hostile!"

"Yes you do, and you are right now."

"Go! Go now!"

I hopped down off the desk and couldn't resist one last comment: "Too bad Joey Lucas isn't in town since you've decided to gather rosebuds"

He threw a file at me. What puerile behavior, honestly! Yet, it didn't come within three feet of me. That's cuz, Josh, no matter what he likes to say about being an athlete or an outdoorsman, has no skills whatsoever. 

Unfortunately, in my happy mood, I was completely oblivious to the fact that I was about to eat crow.

***


	3. Day Two: Joey vs. Sergio

One Lonely Shoe Part 3/

One Lonely Shoe Part 3/?

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimers and stuff: see parts 1+2

Author's Note: Do recall that this takes place in early/mid second season, i.e. without MS crisis and no Mrs. L death. 

****

So Donna had a date. Did I mind? No. I do not have any interest whatsoever in the personal life of my assistant. If she wants to date gomers by the dozen, so be it. 

Okay, so that's a lot of bullshit. This I have come to know. Painfully, and long in coming, but yes, I admit, I _do_ have an interest in Donna's love life. 

But purely for professional reasons. 

No, no, really. 

She gets herself all worked up over these inadequate excuses for men, which causes her generally to leave early and skip out on important government business like getting me my dinner from the mess. And then she returns heartbroken and sniffly and full of All-Males-Are-Evil-Angst and I have to put up with soggy files and insults. 

The federal government simply will not stand for this decidedly unprofessional behavior. Which is why I generally take it upon myself to sabotage her dates. 

For her own good. And for the United States of America. 

Yet, however, I am not always successful. Like today, for instance. After Sam left, I had decided to grill her on exactly what sort of engagement she had planned for Friday night:

"So what's Friday night?" Kept it casual, like any normal topic that regular ole Josh would bring up. 

The everyday crazy, jealous, saboteur Josh. 

She gave me a weird look- and to tell the truth, it wasn't annoyance. Generally when I pry into her personal life- no, when I casually inquire after her personal life (much better), she gets huffy and throws things. 

"I have a date."

"Yeah, so who's the lucky gom- guy?"

"His name happens to be Sergio." She had that odd half-smile on her face as she looked up from the folders she was sorting. 

She had to be kidding. "Sergio? **Ser**-Gee-Oh. Any relation to _Fabio_?" 

"Accent free, born and bred in the US of A."

"Then what, were his parents demented or something? **Ser**-Gee-Oh, dahl-ing, please pass the I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Butter"

"You don't like his name?"

"I'm just saying you don't hear it used much anymore."

"I think you're jealous." She appeared to be very amused with the whole conversation. I thought that I was definitely missing something. 

"What? Me? No! No. I think he's girly." 

"I think you're jealous that I got a date and you didn't." Big Donna smile. Hell, and she's right. I hate that. 

"I think he likes guys." Am I the comeback king or what?

"I think that you make way too many assumptions without thinking at all."

Oooh, a zinger from Donnatella. Probably on the mark with that one, but we Lymans are quite the proud bunch.

"No, it's just that I think really fast. Faster than most normal men."

"Ah, I see." I can't tell if she's agreeing with me or mocking me. Odds are, she's mocking me. I hate that too. If anyone's going to be mocking others, it ought to be me. 

"All that know me are cowed by my intellectual prowess," I declared, waving my arms to the bullpen with a sweeping gesture that I think I can without hesitation call, in a word, mighty. 

"And this would be who?"

"Whom. Let's be grammatically correct, Ms. Moss."

"Oh, let's, Mr. Pedant."

"I am not a pedant!" Goddammit if my voice didn't crack when I yelled er, stated that in perhaps a slightly loud voice. 

"Yes you are." And she got up to leave. 

"Slink away, inferior orator, but know that greater men than you have come before me and failed to meet my standards."

"You're too magnanimous, Mr. Pedant."

"AM NOT!"

  
Now the little people who work in the bullpen- mostly interns and other people whose names I don't know but I fake it til I make it- or call them any name that pops into my head- started to look at me funny cuz I think I said that a bit loud again. 

Whatever. I'd just like to state for the record that Joshua Lyman is not a girly man, nor is he a pedant and his intellectual prowess has reduced men of great stature to shriveling and weepy children. 

And he at that moment he was available to any female that would have him for a date on Friday night. Even that freaky ass chick Kathy Bates played in Misery would have sufficed okay, well, maybe not. I could just probably do better than an overweight, homegrown psychopath. 

That was a very conceited little thing I did there and looking back on it does not bolster the ole Lyman ego but hey, nuthin' but the truth.

And in the spirit of all this honesty, I have to admit that Donna's little comment about Joey Lucas did spark some hope. I mean, **she'd** go out with me. That is, if she wasn't in California. 

But see, I didn't know for sure where she was. She moves around. She visits places. She's a mover and a shaker. She visits DC a lot. 

She could be here at any time and there is no written law that says I would know about it. Should be, but hey, it's not the case. 

As it turns out, she was. In DC. 

Exceptionally bizarre. The Lyman luck strikes again. See, most people follow that adage that if you're lucky in cards, you're unlucky in love and vice versa. 

I suck at cards. Just ask Sam- I have a really lousy poker face. He must have taken me for a couple hundred bucks throughout our whole acquaintance cuz we like to have little tests of manhood called Poker Night. Poker Night generally occurs when I'm drunk so I confess that this could be partially the reason why Sam kicks my butt. 

But what I was trying to say was that while I'm unlucky at cards, I'm lucky in everything else and hey, Joey Lucas was in town when I needed a date. 

To quote a very inconsiderate assistant, it was the season of rosebud gathering. 

Now, how did I know she was in town? I just knew. I'm psychically connected like that and have powerful spy satellites at my disposal. 

And possibly I heard from my friend at Justice that he had been talking with a very nice senator from Nevada who had a very nice, very pretty, and very deaf pollster working for him on a little project here for the next week and a half. 

And being the Deputy Chief of Staff typically affords you things like phone numbers to senators' offices- and sometimes even their homes. 

Yeah, I love my job. 

Which is pretty much how the Joey-Sergio Bloodbath o' the Century began. 

****

Josh is a very transparent man. He likes to pretend that he is completely disinterested in my personal life. He is either deeply in denial or he really sucks at being disinterested- cuz generally some freaky ass big-brother instinct kicks in and we have to start Twenty Questions every time he hears I have a date. 

I didn't have the willpower to tell him that Sergio was a dog. I was having too much fun watching him make a fool of himself. More than usual, that is. 

He kept attempting to tip-toe over to his door when I wasn't looking in some weird attempt for stealth-which he cannot do, cuz he tiptoes like a parade of elephants- and then closing the door whenever he had to make one of "those" calls. Those please-please-go-out-with-me-but-don't-give-me-any-responsibility-the-day-after-like-remembering-your-name-type calls.

It was hilarious. A girl can't find better entertainment. Unless, perhaps, you count the time he spilled coffee on his pants and was skulking around his office in his boxer shorts all morning but that's another story for another day. 

Anyway, I was having a pretty pleasant sort of day until Josh courteously informed me that Joey -as I like to call her- "Friggin' " Lucas was in town and snuck back into his lair, closing the door quietly behind him and stuffily asking not to be disturbed.

Then my day pretty much sucked.

Insufferable Obnoxious Josh had returned, making numerous references to his confirmed date on Friday.

"Yeah, you are really somethin', Josh, " I had conceded. Once. And only once.

He smiled.

"Not only did you finally ask out a girl, but a guy too! All in one foul swoop! Tell me, are you going to get Kenny a boutineirre to match Joey's corsage?"

The smile fell. All those innuendos about sexual prowess and all those veiled hints about good times crumbled. Apparently, it had finally dawned upon him that those kind of things might be awkward to fulfill under the watchful eye of a certain pollster's interpreter. 

"Learn sign language yet, Joshua?" I smirked.

He grumbled unintelligibly- something about not needing words for the International Language- what the hell is up with that?- and spent the rest of the afternoon tossing his head back and forth, as if he had a long mane of hair and saying, "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" with a thick accent. The voice was pure Obnoxious Josh but the whole head tossing thing was completely disconcerting. It looked like he was having some kind of bizarre, uncontrollable spasm that should be reported to medical personnel immediately.

Sam agreed with me. He happened by the bullpen and stopped by my desk. Using a conspiratorial whisper, he asked me if Josh was in his right mind.

"Is he ever?"

"Point taken. But he's been doing this thing"

"With his head."

"Tossing it from side to side."

"Yep." I nodded.

"So I'm not alone in this?"

"Nope."

"Does he need a doctor?"

"No, he needs a psychiatrist. He's trying to be Fabio."

"Fabio? The butter guy?"

"The very same."

"Why would he want to be the butter guy?" 

"Cuz he's Josh and he's twisted that way," I sighed.

"I don't even think he's working anymore." Just then, Toby passed by. "Hey, Toby, you remember Fabio? That guy who did the commercials for the butter?"

"Yes, and before you begin, I don't even want to know why you're bringing him up"

"What is he doing? You know, I don't think he makes those commercials anymore" wondered Sam aloud.

"Thank God," said Toby. "I'm going to go get some coffee and pretend I don't know you people." 

"Maybe he sits at home and makes toast," I offered. 

"Well, I'm sure he got a lot of free butter," conceded Sam. 

"It isn't really butter though, it's"

And in the middle of sharing my knowledge of food products with Sam, a "Hey Don-na" in a forced accent came over my intercom. I gave Sam a do-you-see-what-I-put-up-with glare. 

"He's talking like him too?" 

"Yes, Sam."

"Don-naaa" the intercom said again.

"Joshua"

"I can't find the Kallender file and"

"And what?"

"I seem to bring myself to admit that this is _not_ butter"

Sam giggled. After I glared at him, he stopped pretty damn quick.

"Josh, I refuse to continue working today until you resume your normal voice and refrain from all references to butter, margarine and other condiments."

Josh came out of his office and placed his hand on the door frame. He began to do the weird head tossing thing again. Sam tried to hide his smile underneath his hand and I glared. 

Toby walked by and did a double take at seeing Josh. He stopped and said," You really should see a specialist about that twitch you've got there." 

Josh stopped and looked confused. Sam lost the battle for composure and laughed. 

"Sam, I believe you have a reprimand to write" he added, glaring at him. 

"Yeah, sure, in a minute"

"Like now, cuz last time I checked you still had no punctuation and talking about some butter guy is not going to remedy that!"

"Imagery, Toby! It's called **imagery**!" And the two of them continued to bicker down the hallway to the communications offices. 

"Do you see what you've started?" I said to Josh.

He was watching them walk away. "Do I have a twitch?"

"Yes. Yes you do." I'm too tired to explain that they all think he's ill because of this singular attempt to provoke me. 

"I do? I never knew I had a twitch"

"You'll get over it, I'm sure"

"Is it like a Herbert Lom twitch?"

"Your eye isn't the problem, it's the head movements that does it"

"I was being Fabio!" Ah, realization had set in. Good- cuz I really didn't need a neurotic Josh asking me medical questions about the nature of his twitch.

"So **you** thought."

"You don't get the same effect without the hair I suppose"

"No, cuz it looks like you have a twitch."

"Do you think I'd look good with long hair?"

"God, no."

"I should grow it long and then I could toss it from side to side"

"And look like a complete idiot."

"Fabio doesn't look like an idiot- so you say."

"So I did say- cuz he looks good with long hair. You would look horrible with long hair and so I say again: you'd look like a complete idiot."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Anytime."

"So are you going to get me the Kallender file?"

"Would it kill you to get it yourself?"  
"I have a medical condition!"

"Terminal stupidity. Here's your file."

"Did I tell you of the school voucher smack-down?"

"No, you did not."

"The WWF has rarely seen such slaughter."

"You didn't take a folding chair to Greggs, did you?"

"No- but I bet it feels like I did. My intellectual prowess, you know"

"Oh, brother."

So it was all settled by the end of the day. I got the key to Margaret's sister's house and scheduled lunch with her for a briefing on what to do with Sergio and what purse she should take with her to the ball. 

Josh was confirmed to go with Joey (and consequently, Kenny) and was feeling pretty smug about it, yet conceeding to my request, mentioned butter only five more times during the remainder of the evening. Not really a victory, but the best I can do when Josh gets in one of those moods. 

At least he stopped doing the voice. Once he answered the phone "in character" and it was Leo. I shudder to think what **he** thinks is going on over here. 

Josh was still asking me questions about Sergio and I kept making up vague answers and/or changing the subject. He also seemed bent on comparing my "date" and his with Joey. 

I think since his is actually human - though on my more resentful days, I have doubted that and considered her rather as the spawn of Satan- that he has one-upped me in this case. 

Ah well. There's always tomorrow. 

****

TBC


	4. Day Three: Solitaire

One Lonely Shoe 4/

One Lonely Shoe 4/?

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimers n' stuff: see parts 1,2, + 3

****

I had less than twenty four hours to get ready. Not that a slick guy like me needs more than twenty four hours to prepare for a date, but this was a white tie thing and I was a man without a white tie. Well, I had a white tie, but it wasn't looking particularly white. That whiskey stain was making it a rather darkish, brownish short of color that was not at all white nor inconspicuous.

And my white shirt to accompany the white tie had a nasty brown stain on its cuff and quite frankly, though I have complete faith in the ability of cleaners to magically make my suits clean again, over-a-month old bloodstains do not appear to be fixable by their bag of tricks. 

There was this dude I saw on an infomercial once that probably could have done it- but I think he's moved on to promoting an Ab-Thingy of some sort, so I pretty much chucked it up to a lost cause. 

So I had a date but nothing to wear. And I mean that in the purely practical, non-effeminate sort of way there. 

I managed to dig out the rumpled aforementioned stained suit from this very efficient clothes pile that I have in my bedroom- an explanation of this system is irrelevant, but let me say this: it rivals my office desk. I know where every article of clothing I own is in respect to the cardinal directions and I defy any woman to assert the same with all their boxes and dressers and et cetera. Donna was rendered speechless by it. Pure envy, I'm sure. Which was why she was nominated as the candidate to take the suit to be cleaned, pressed, and given license to kill.

I know people think that I'm typically rude to my assistant and make presumptuous demands upon her, but really, I swear, that was the first time I _ever_ made her pick up my laundry. Okay, so that's not really true- she has on other occasions been forced to pick up my laundry after I'd done other very stupid things to my clothes in the course of a work day. And she did when I was recovering. 

But other than those times, I never impose on Donna to do things like take my suit to the dry cleaners. It's unprofessional, probably unethical and it blurs the lines between employer and employee. 

Yeah. But I do it anyway. Lately, I've been real uncomfortable with dropping off/ picking up my clothes myself. Why, do you ask? 

My dry cleaner thinks Donna is my wife. 

Yeah. Seriously. It can't get any worse than that, can it? She's picked up my shirts and suits so many times that poor old Mr. Mamoto, who's mostly blind and half senile, thinks that I am **married** . 

To _Donna_. 

If that isn't a disturbing thought. And people wonder why I freak out when they say we have a thing. 

And it won't stop. If I keep getting her to take my stuff, it promulgates the fiction. If I take it myself, I am subject to the most humiliating of questions and if I negate everything, then I'm a dishonest husband or a liar or just a bad boss. 

Why I should care what this man thinks of me, I have no idea. I am Josh Lyman, political giant among men! With intellectual prowess knowing no bounds! 

And a really strange fear of Mr. Mamoto. Damn, is married life making me soft?

Donna, for what it's worth, gets a kick out of it. Like she did today when she returned with my evening wear after lunch 

"Mr. Mamoto says hello," she said casually, walking into my office and hanging up the suit in my closet. 

"Uh-huh."

"He also asks when he will have the pleasure of cleaning Little Lyman's shirts."

"A what? You did not just say what I thought you said that he said."

She laughed. "Apparently, Mr. Mamoto thinks it's high time that you had some kiddies."

"I don't believe this"

"You better believe it. I told him you were much too busy running the country."

"And that I am." Men cower! Women swoon! Lyman rules!

"He thinks you shouldn't neglect your wife."

"My what?" Erg. Can't. Feel. Lips. 

"And to tell the truth, I am feeling rather neglected and unloved. Though, it's nothing a DVD player can't fix."

"Donna" 

"Or a second honeymoon to Hawaii"

"DON-NA!" 

"What? Wouldn't you like a second honeymoon in Hawaii? I can't seem to remember the first one"

"First what?"

"Honeymoon. It must have been very short." 

"Practically non-existent, one could say," I remarked drily.

"Hmph! No wonder we don't have any children."

"Excuse me?" Almost fell off my chair. Luckily, at least one piece of office equipment still likes me

"A non-existent honeymoon," she chided. 

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation" I mutter to my ink blotter. It doesn't seem to have any pity for me. Damn stupid thing. Probably in league with the Filing Cabinet of Doom

"Not to mention that you're a workaholic, persist in getting drunk when you go out with the boys- even though I've told you time and time again that you have a delicate system"

Somewhere along the way I lost track of her rantings. It was really scary- she actually sounded like a wife.

My wife. 

This was why I needed a drink in the middle of the afternoon. I am only human. And this was too much. I mean, she did it all in fun. Kinda like my Butter rantings of yesterday. Shoe's on the other foot and all that crap. 

I like it when I get to mock and tease people. It should not happen the other way around. There should be a law: Lyman's Law and oh, how nice it sounds. With alliteration and everything (and people think that I'm not a Fulbright scholar! Hah!) Lyman's Law of Singular Direction Mocking. Or something equally pompous. 

See, it's fine to mock a man with a girly name who conjures up images of an idiot with a stupid accent and a penchant for margarine. It is _not_ fine to mock people on the subject of being imaginarily married to them especially when numerous coworkers believe that the said couple have a "thing." And it is mos_t definitely not _fine when one of those in the said couple is **me**. 

I believe even at one point in her tirade she remarked that sex with me was always a disappointment- only another reason she should file for divorce.

I heartily agreed that she should- if only to end the pleadings for a second honeymoon. 

She suggested counseling. 

I hate her. Only she could take this stupid coincidence and humiliate me with it all day long. Only Donnatella Moss 

And where does she get off in saying that sex with me was a disappointment? I would have her know that many women have been unable to walk for days straight after an evening with me. So there. 

Okay- so maybe I was stretching the truth a little there. But their knees were definitely wobbly. Weak, one might be forced to remark. Positively weak. 

And as I was developing other names for my proposed law at the bar, who should casually stroll into the lobby but Joey, with Kenny on her heels. I was shocked at first, until I realized that she was probably staying at that hotel. It was probably effeminate of me to have drinks at a mere hotel bar- what I needed was a manly, back room bar- but they're kinda hard to come by in the close proximity of the White House. 

She saw me and they came over to where I sat. We exchanged pleasantries. She looked nice. She always looks nice. I couldn't have done any better for a date. Or on-again, off-again girlfriend, for that matter. 

A porter came up to Kenny with a carousel of baggage. 

Then she dropped the bomb. 

The project she had been working on was finished- but she had been inclined to stay in town for a while longer to witness its results first hand. Not to mention attend a certain social function with yours truly. What she hadn't expected was that her pet project back in California apparently hit a snag of some sort, and her candidate was knee deep in some kind of energy scandal. 

She was leaving. She had a flight in an hour. She couldn't come to the embassy ball. She had left a message with Donna and she was sorry to ruin my plans. 

"You should take her," Kenny translated.

"Who?" 

"Donna. You should take Donna to the embassy instead," said Kenny.

"She's got a date with some local gomer named _Sergio_"

"You should ask her anyway."

"She's busy."

"She wouldn't be if you asked her."

Then Butch and the Kid left, leaving me with yet another non subtle hint from Ms. Lucas on Donna and my love life. I cannot imagine what possesses this woman to do this. Never have I done anything to show any kind of attraction to Donna. I gave **her** the coffee mug, didn't I? I asked **her** out on a date I would have matching monogrammed towels with **her** I was gathering rosebuds with **her**

But I was sitting in a hotel bar in the middle of the day drinking whiskey because Donna wasn't my wife and I wasn't a bad husband, I was a bad boss who makes the assistant he is unworthy of run out and pick up his dry cleaning for him, and I wasn't going to be with her at the ball but she would be somewhere else with an effeminate gomer who will probably never call her again and she'll be miserable and I'll be miserable and we'll both be alone.

Yeah. I needed another drink.

****

Payback, Donnatella-style. I was very proud of myself that I was enabled to retaliate on Josh's Fabio routine so quickly and with such wonderful results. Yeah, he was pissed and frustrated and all those things that I was yesterday when he refused to stop speaking like he was a congested Arnold Schwartzenager. 

I have to admit that I do like it. "Mrs. Lyman" does have a certain ring to it, does it not? 

It at least keeps my mind preoccupied from killing him. I mean, does Margaret have to pick up Leo's suits? 

Then again, there is no assistant of the West Wing who rivals me in inane tasks and boss stupidity. There are days when Sam comes close- probably through association- but really. 

It's a good thing that I love him so much or I would have been out of a job a looooong time ago. 

Wait! Back up- I am not in love with him! Denial is a good thing, a great thing. As is misdirection, misinformation, and miscommunication. Because if I were in love with him, I would have most likely been heartbroken that he was going to the Phillippines/Czech Ambassador Embassy Ball with Joey Lucas. And I was soooo okay with that. 

I even told Margaret, when I went to lunch with her, exactly how okay I was with the whole Josh-Joey circumstance. 

"This is all my doing. I have gotten them together. I feel like Emma."

"From Justice?"

"No, from Austen."

"I always thought she was from Mississippi." Only Margaret could take an innocent literary reference and turn it into an absolutely befuddling paradox involving a Texan paralegal with bad taste in shoes and an inhaler fetish. 

"No- **Jane** Austen. Emma. The matchmaker."

"Oh. Right. And you're still watching Sergio tonight?"

"Yeah, of course, I am! I've been meaning to ask you, I mean, I've never dog-sitted before and I was wondering if you had any tips."

"Tips?"

"You know, like 'he likes to play with bones' or 'don't feed him chocolate' or"

"Wear grungy clothes."

"Huh?"

"He licks and he jumps and he gets physical. Wear grungy clothes."

"O-kaaaaay. How about you?" Blank Margaret face. "What will you be wearing tonight?"

"Oh," she giggled, and proceeded to fill me in on every sequin of her dress (Donna Karan- last year, but what can you do on an assistant's salary?), her shoes (matching **and** Italian, almost as much as the dress), her bag(matching and way too small, but very cute so the high beam flashlight she normally carries will just have to stay at home), her earrings(demure, small, and I hardly need add, matching), her necklace(to compliment the earrings) and last but not least, the finer points of makeup. 

After I had persuaded her to switch fingernail shades, I figured my work was done. Margaret was going to have a wonderful time at the ball.

And I was going to get mauled by a two ton Greyhound. 

Whoopee. TGIF? Not bloody likely.

And after I brought back Josh's clothes, she replayed a message that the Czech ambassador had left her asking about the starting time for the ball. Very sexy sounding voice. Damn damn damn. She gave me the keys to her sister's house and directions on how to get there. I just hope I don't end up in Baltimore. 

Josh had another education meeting in the afternoon, so once again I was exiled to the bullpen and forced to beat my old solitaire record. 

"Red six on the black seven," Sam's voice said out of nowhere. 

"I'm not an idiot, Samuel."

"I'm just saying maybe you didn't see it."

"I saw it- I can only move so many cards at once."

"You're gonna want to move that king over"

"Sam!"

"Yeah?"

"Could you like, stop that? It's very annoying. I'm trying to play a game here."

"He still in with Greggs' aide?" Sam motioned at Josh's closed office door.

"Yep," I replied, eyes fixated on my computer screen.

"You should" Sam began gesturing at my screen with his coffee cup. 

"Why is it that whenever someone sees someone else engaged in this stupid game, that they feel behooved to make completely obvious suggestions?"

"I have no idea, but if you don't move that black four onto the red three I think I might actually make a lunge for your mouse there."

"Okaaaay then." I continued with my game as Sam watched in silence. I don't know whether this was because of my rebuke or that I was finally doing it right or that he decided to drink some of his coffee before interrupting me again. 

"So, you've got a date tonight." Yee-ha. Back to **my** favorite subject. Grrrr.

"As a matter of speaking."

"His name is Sergio," Sam declared, as if he was asserting some philosophical truth. Donna's date has a name, if he has a name, he exists. Q.E.D. 

"Eryes."

"Okay, I'm picking up a weird vibe here."

"There is no weird vibe, Sam."

"I'm a writer. I know subtext. There is a weird vibe here." He paused for a moment, taking a thoughtful sip of coffee. "You're not like, marrying him so he can get a green card or something, are you?"

"No, Sam."

"Good. Does he have a third nipple?"

"Honest to God, Sam, I don't know." Do dogs even have nipples? 

"Something is weird about him."

"And you know thishow?"

"Because"

"You're picking up a weird vibe. Uh-huh."

"Come on, you can tell me. I promise I won't tell Josh."

"That's what you said about his birthday present last year."

"That wasn't my fault!"

"Twelve of your peers say no, Sam."

"Contrary to popular belief, I am very capable of handling a secret. It is mere unfortunate chance that a few mistakes"

I snorted in derision. Not ladylike, I know, but I got my point across.

"Okay, a few _well publicized_ mistakes and I'm branded for life."

I decided to take pity on him. "He's a dog."

"I always thought that only applied as ugly for a girl." **Large inward sigh.**

"No, he's a dog dog."

"A dog dog?"

"I'm dogsitting for Margaret's sister."

"Why are you dogsitting for Margaret's sister?"

"Cuz Margaret asked me to."

"Oh. A dog named Sergio?"

"Yep. He's a greyhound."

"Really? And why does Josh think he's your date?"

"Because he's pathological." Oh, and I might have stretched the truth a bit to annoy him and incite him to act on the bottled up passions he has for me because I am a very sick and very delusional person.

"Oh. You see, I was right."

"You sure can pick your vibes, Sam. Don't you have a reprimand to write?"

"Toby's picking through draft three."

"I thought you said draft two was, and I quote, 'da bomb.'" 

"That was before Toby shredded it and then proceeded to throw several rubber balls in my general direction."

"Oh."

"Tell Josh to come see me when he's done. I need to go over some things about the Czech guy for tonight."

"Kay."

Then my phone rang. It was Kenny. Joey Lucas regretfully cannot attend the ball tonight 

I should not be this happy about my boss getting dumped at the eleventh hour. But God help me, I am. 

So when he came out of his meeting, after waiting a respectable interval (10-20 seconds, give or take a few), I went into his office with his accumulated messages. 

"Before you even start," he said, "I will not take you to Fiji for the second honeymoon."

"Me? Start? Sam came by- he wants to see you about the thing?"

"The thing."

"Tonight."  
"Oh, **that** thing. Kay." He started gathering up folders and making yet another pile on the many other piles he has on his desk. He had got a band-aid on his left index finger that wasn't there earlier in the day.

"What did you do?"

"Huh?"

"Your finger."

He looked at the member in question, then looked at me, and without responding, he went back to making a mess.

"Don't tell me what was it this time? The filing cabinet? The stapler? The Mets paperweight?"

He mumbled something to his shirt, but I have very good hearing. 

"That sounded suspiciously like a **pencil**?"

No response, but since he's beginning to turn red I think that my acute ears were not mistaken.

"How could you injure yourself with a _pencil_?"

"The office supplies conspire against me."

"Josh."

"I was, you know, turning it around and around" he proceeded to demonstrate his pencil twirling skills with his good hand, "and the stupid thing slipped and"

"You jabbed yourself in the finger."

"Yes," he says with all the pride he can muster. 

I laughed so hard that I was in serious danger of collapsing onto the floor.

"While you have fun over my lead poisoning, I'll be in with Sam," he said, making for the door. "Oh, and, the file cabinet's sticking again"

Before I could reply amidst my giggling, he left. And I didn't get to give him his message from Joey Lucas. 

When he didn't come back after a while, I decided to go in search of him. I went to Sam's office, but surprisingly, neither Sam nor Josh was there. 

I decided to swing round to see Margaret- she would know if they were called off to duty by Leo. But she wasn't even there to consult, until I remembered that she went home early to prepare for the big night. 

Mrs. Landingham very nicely however, pointed out that the boys had not been around this afternoon. 

"And I can't say that I'm the worse for it," she cracked. "Are you going to the ball tonight?"

"Uh, no."

"Dogsitting, huh?" I swear that woman has beyond mortal powers sometimes. It's very intimidating. And it must have shown on my face. "Margaret asked just about everyone in the secretarial pool before she hooked you. That's a nice thing to do, dear."

"Yeah." And wasn't I enthusiastic. Hurrah for self-denial.

"But you should ditch the dog."

"Excuse me?"

"It's going to be a lot of fun and you can't really want to miss it watching Sergio. He's a probably harmless. Margaret tends to get a bit carried away, you know." Did I ever. 

"Are you going?"

"I'm too old for that sort of thing. But Charlie's promised to bring me back some canapes."

"That's nice of him."

"Yes, it is. They always have good food at those things. You should go, if only to keep that Josh of yours in line."

Josh of mine? _Josh of **mine**_???

"Tell you what," she said, "how 'bout I leave your name for them in case you change your mind."

"You're a tough lady to say no to, Mrs. Landingham."

"Compared to the President, you're a walk in the park, dearie." 

Because I am very stupid, i.e. in denial, and because I had a deep sense of obligation to Margaret to allow her this one night out- a gesture of the sisterhood, let us say- I left a note for Josh, saying I had departed for the night and went home to change before facing Sergio. 

****

TBC


	5. Getting There: Paging Fairy Godmothers E...

One Lonely Shoe Part 5/

One Lonely Shoe Part 5/?

"Getting There: Paging Fairy Godmothers Everywhere, SOS! or Flora, Fauna, and Merriweather They Aren't" 

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimers n' stuff: see part 1 and all the rest

Author's note: Thank you to all the lovely lovely people who sent me feedback for the first few parts J I promise to try and finish with all expediency. 

****

"Josh!" 

Uh. Unhhh..ugh.

"Josh!" I swear to God, I think I'm hearing things now- as if I didn't have enough problems getting my legs to work correctly and stop folding in on themselves- that sounded like Sam.

"Josh! Didn't you hear me calling you?" Well, I'll be damned. It **is** Sam. In the flesh. And strangely moving from side to side

"Stop that," I order. The shouting and the moving back and forth are both very disconcerting. 

"I've been looking all over for you- there was a last minute change-up in the schedule. The President's going to make the concessions to the Czech ambassador _before_ the reprimand now."

"That's very nice, Sam."

"You're drunk."

"I've always considered you a very perceptive individual. Will you go with me to the embassy ball this evening?"

"At this rate, I'll have to carry you. What happened?"

" 'S Joey. She dumped me. My girlfriend dumped me."

"Your girlfriend? Is that like your plan to fight inflation?"

"I gave her a coffee mug!" I am indignant. Nobody takes anything seriously anymore. 

"Josh, you never went out with Joey."

"And I never will cuz she is one mean woman, _dumping_ me after all we've been through."

"It was only a promotional mug, Josh. They sell them in the gift shop for $9.95."

"And that's $9.95 I'm never going to see again."

"Okay, now you're drooling on me."

"Sorry."

"Could you just lean the other way- this is a new suit."

"Right-oh." Sam had taken hold of my upper limbs and was endeavoring to get my lower ones to function correctly. And was having about just as much success as I had been having prior to his appearance. We had shuffled over the door and were making our way to the parking lot when we had a bit of a disagreement.

"My car's over that way," I pointed, standing up straighter and hoping to disentangle myself from his grasp.

"Yeah, but _my_ car is over here."

"That's good for you."

"_You_ are **not** driving home."

"Hey, you know what, Sam? I'm a big boy now- I think I can take myself home without supervisionoof." I said, huffily before I suddenly hit pavement. I really don't know how that happened but the next thing I knew I was sitting on asphalt with my legs at odd angles looking up at Sam, who was trying really hard not to laugh. 

I think my left foot had some sort of vendetta with my right foot and with malice took revenge by causing me to fall on my ass. Another innocent man gets caught in the cross-fire of warring body parts. If I didn't have enough problems with office supplies

"My car, Josh"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

So after I got Sam to transfer my crap into his car and received some manual assistance in getting the passenger door to close, Sam drove me home and solicitiously asked me if I needed any more assistance- like climbing stairs. 

"No, thank you," I said, mustering up all the Lyman dignity that I had left- which, to be fair, was not much. "See you at the thing."

"Yeah- try to get sobered up before then, okay? Or Leo will have your ass."

If that wasn't a sobering thought.

So, armed with my newly cleaned suitand briefcase, I tottered into my building, fully ready for battle. Thank god the elevator was there, that's all I have to say. 

Admittedly, it took a while to find the right key to let me into my apartment, and then it took an equally long time to work through my befuddlement to make some coffee. Mind you- I have problems finding coffee filters on a good day- like when I'm not half drunk. And so, for the better part of an hour I made a mess in my kitchen while vehemently cursing Mr. Coffee and all his coffee minions. 

At one point, I had a flash of Lyman brilliance and called the office. Donna would know where the friggin' filters were. 

No one answered. I ended up getting transferred to communications and talking to Bonnie, who was really pissed off, because she was about to leave. 

"Where's Donna?" I asked, through her agitated sighs.

" _She's_ left already."

"What?"

"She. Left. Already. She. Is. Not. Here," pronounced Bonnie, enunciating each word in a really annoying way.

"Okay. **Fine.** Do you perhaps know what she did with my coffee filters?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Girl Talk?"

"Whatever," and she hung up on me, presumably to go torment someone else. 

What the hell was happening today? First Joey dumps me, then my legs go out of commission and Donna deserts me in the middle of the day! Okay, so it was more like 7:30, but still, she just walked out on me. 

Then I remembered. Tonight was the big date night. With Sergio. Mr. Ooh la la- King-of-Butter-and-Other-Condiments. Ick. I was ditched for a sleazy local gomer. 

I really needed some coffee. 

So, I managed to clean myself up and put on the suit- with the exception of the tie- I always had trouble getting it straight- and it's not like Donna could condescend to help me like she usually does since she was probably at home primping for the Big Mr. S. And then I swung 'round to Starbucks (partially because they make better coffee than I do and also cuz I had given up looking for the filters). 

When I got to the West Wing, I was at least half presentable. Sam was typing last minute changes while Toby alternately cursed at him and CJ, who was engaged in attempting to make his tie stay straight. She was obliging me when Leo came in and announced that the motorcade had arrived so we had all better get moving. 

And away we went. When I said earlier that I hated white tie things, I really only meant wearing the suit and making pointless conversations with complete strangers who I have to be extra nice to or I'll lose my job. But really the parties are great. The rooms are lavishly decorated, liquor flows like a river, the best musicians' accent the background with beautiful sounds, and the food always, always is ten times better than week old Chinese takeout. 

Though I have to admit, when I stepped into that great hall, with my closest friends in the world, I missed the one who wasn't there with all my heart.

****

"Sam Seaborn."

"Sam, I really need your help."

"Donna?" I could see in my mind's eye him looking at his cell phone with a really dumbfounded look on his face. Who knew that after all those times connecting Josh would have gotten me to memorize the number?

"I'm trapped in the kitchen."

"What?" 

I still couldn't believe it. I was in a perilous situation, and the only person I could turn to was Sam. It was unnerving, to say the least. I took a deep breath and tried to explain the situation in as calm a voice as I could muster. 

"Sam. I am sitting on a countertop and I cannot get down or a two ton greyhound will maul me to death."

"Sergio?"

"The one and only. I swear to God, Sam, you've got to come over here and help me put him back into his cage."

"What happened?"

"It's a long story." Actually, it wasn't so much long as it was embarrassing. I came over and let him out of his cage, whereupon he knocked me down, jumped all over me and began to chase me as soon as I could stand again. Being a very large dog, with proportionately large teeth and paws, needless to say, I was a bit nonplussed. Okay, so I was scared spitless, as my mother would say, and now was cowering between the cabinets by the sink while Sergio paced back and forth and barked at me. 

"Isn't there someone else you could call? I mean, I'm kinda in the middle of a thing here"

"SAM! If there was someone else I could call, don't you think I would have called them already? Margaret's there, Bonnie's there, Kathy's there, Carol's there. No one is condescending to answer their cells." And there is no way in hell I was going to call Josh. No way. Not under any circumstances. Months of ridicule. And that was only the beginnning. Coffee blackmail, longer hours, more laundry duty.

"Donna"

"Please, Sam? Life and death, here, really. He's a very, very big dog."

"Then, you see, I'm exactly the wrong person to call in this situation, as I would most definitely end up with you on the countertop."

"Sam!"

"I mean, if you're terrified of him, he might just kill me by sight. I am not an animal person"

"SAM!"

Big sigh from the other end. "Where are you?"

I gave him the directions Margaret had given me and hung up. This was bad on so many levels. 

At this point, I tried to reason with the dog. I explained my presence, informing him of Margaret's gown and her detainment, and very rationally presented a truce before him. I could get down and he could get some treats. Okay, so maybe, it was more like a bribe, but who's to say? 

At which point, he started barking some more, and put his big paws on the counter, so that if I hadn't stood up, I would have had a close encounter with his muzzle and all the teeth contained therein. 

I tried threats. I tried normal dog reasoning like "sit" and "down boy" and "get the hell away from me." I tried hand gestures. I tried screaming my head off. 

Sergio just barked louder. 

I hate dogs. 

Then, all of a sudden, he was quiet. Silence reigned in the house and suddenly, he bolted out of the kitchen- with all the alacrity that probably made him famous at the racetrack. 

I carefully climbed down from the counter, and tiptoed out of the room in the opposite direction- or what I hoped was the opposite direction- towards the living room. I was checking all around me- just in case Sergio hadn't developed stealth capabilities in those last few moments when I saw a figure on the back porch. 

A figure I recognized. 

I crept to the door and unlocked it slowly, hoping that the dog wouldn't hear the click (do you see how paranoid that stupid animal had made me?) 

"Toby," I said.

"Donna," he replied gruffly, entering the house and then proceeded to look around warily. "Where's the man-eating mutt?"

I nod my head in the general direction in which the dog had left, and follow behind him as he proceeded in that direction. 

"Sam sent you?" I whispered.

"You guys owe me big time for this," he muttered, looking for Sergio. " _Big_ time."

Sergio had stationed himself at the front door and was staring at the doorknob with excessive concentration. It appeared as if he hadn't noticed our approach.

"Get his leash," Toby muttered at me. 

"Um, yeah, okay," and I turned to go find a leash. Margaret hadn't mentioned anything about a leash- though it wouldn't have been a bad point to bring up I found it hanging in the hall closet and brought it back to Toby. 

Leash in hand, he crept up on the dog, and hooking his collar, he sternly began to order the dog around. I showed them where the cage was and amazingly enough, when Toby ordered Sergio in, in he went. 

It was really spooky. But then, when like meets like.

"Thank you so very much. You didn't have to come," I said graciously, suddenly very very nervous.

"I still don't know why I'm here. Many, many things must make up for this. Multitudes of things, **big** things" he sighed. "Payback of which no mortal can possibly conceive" he continued, returning to the front door and opening it. 

"CJ?" I exclaimed, shocked.

"Didn't Sam tell you help was on the way?" she said, sweeping into the room with her full skirts and a large shopping bag. 

"I need a drink," Toby said.

"You're not the only one," I replied.

CJ soon sent him away to find his deserved drink, and then sat down on the couch with me. "You okay?"

"Well, though it was endearing to see my life flash before my eyes, I wouldn't want to do it again," I laughed. "I can't believe you guys came all the way out here just for me."

"Oh no, we're not so magnanimous as you presume. Big time favors, Donnatella."

"So Toby tells me," I said glumly.

"Not that you haven't already saved our asses hundreds of times. Really, I mean, I know that you tend to get under-appreciated but, you're one of us," she said, patting my hands reassuringly. "So, let's get ready to rumble!" She took out her bag and handed it to me. 

I pulled out a long black evening gown- definitely John Rocha from last autumn- and matching Pied-a-terre, kitten heel black suede shoes. 

"Oh. My. God."

"You're going to the ball with us," CJ said. 

"I can't. Really. This is so very very very nice of you, but I"

"Who came here to rescue you from certain death?"

"You-"

"And what makes you think you're gonna be let off the hook?" War time CJ in action. Eek.

"I think I'll just go upstairs and try this on then."

"Good."

The dress was a little too long and the shoes were definitely too big, but when I looked at myself in the mirror of Margaret's sister's bedroom well, it was all I could do not to simper. 

There was a knock at the door and CJ came in.

"Toby's getting restless so I thought I might come up and see Oh, Donna, you look beautiful."

"The shoes are too big," I mumbled.

"Nobody will be looking at your shoes."

"Do you think I really look alright?"

"You'll have Josh drooling in seconds."

Okay, how the hell does **she** know? Damn it , and I'm turning beet red. Friggin' alabaster skin"I don't" I stammered.

"Yeah, sure. Fine. Whatever. Now, what to do about that hair?"

Fifteen minutes later we descended the stairs, CJ triumphant with her makeover abilities, and I frightful that I would tumble ass-over-teacups down the stairs because of the shoes and my precarious balance now that my hair was piled on top of my head. 

Toby stood at the door. "You look nice," he said preemptorially. "Can we go now? Sam's probably massacred the toast by now"

"Oh, get your boxers out of a twist," said CJ. "It probably hasn't even started yet."

"Which gives him more time to ruin my hard work."

"Cocktails and pleasantries first."

"Cuz him fiddling with it after he downed a few drinks is going to make me feel a whole lot better"

"Toby, if you don't stop this nonsense, I will beat you with a sack of quarters."

And on and on it went all the way back to Washington. But a girl can't be too picky with her fairy godmothers, now, can she? 

****

TBC.


	6. The Ball: Chaos and Control -or- When We...

One Lonely Shoe Part 6/

One Lonely Shoe Part 6/?

"The Ball: Chaos and Control or When We Last Left Our Hero and Heroine"

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimers n' stuff: see parts 1 and up

Author's Note: I live in fear of Len's terrier. Here it is- the end is not far now. Sniff sniff hope this isn't too painful a readand I swear I will work at the next part with all diligence! 

****

"Where the hell is Toby?" Leo was pissed. And since I was standing right there not doing much of anything except shoving crab puffs into my mouth, he decided to take out his wrath on me. 

"Ah dwonth knothe," I said trying to enunciate through the crab. Swallowing, I said, "Maybe he's beating up Sam in the parking lot."

"The speech is in four minutes"

"I only have quarter of"

"And I have a real watch. Find him. Now." he said huffily, turning to the woman on his right and politely asking about her kids. 

"Geez, okay."

"And save some of the crab puffs for the other guests!"

Is it just me or are some days just so very very **not** my days? Luckily, however, I found Sam first- and unbruised as he was- I figured he hadn't encountered Toby in the last five minutes either.

"He'suh, taking care of something else."

"What?"

"There was just a little business that he had to take care of back at the office"

"Sam, this is his big speech night."

"Yeah."

"It's gonna startsoon."

"Yeah."

"He's not here?"

"Yeah." 

"Okay." We stood in silence, watching the guests dance and chatter and eat canapes and truffles and cheese on tiny sticks. I was pondering how to quickly escape Leo's wrath for a) not finding Toby b)not bringing a date and c) making a fool out of myself, as I knew I would when I finally had to apologize to the Czech dude. 

Whatever Sam was thinking couldn't have been much better- I assume it was how to dodge Toby once he got back from wherever the hell he was.

"I added to the speech," Sam said, his voice straining to be casual. 

"Really?"

"The President was really happy with it."

"What'd Toby say?"

"He doesn't know."

"Oh."

"I'm dog meat."

"Yep." 

Another silence. Then suddenly, I realized something.

"Where's CJ?"

"Hmmm?"

"CJ. I don't see her around anywhere," I said, scanning the ballroom. 

"She's probably in the bathroom."

"In the bathroom?"

"You know, touching up her makeup, powdering her nose or doing otherfeminine thingsthat women do." And Sam a speechwriter. Heaven help us all. 

"Right." By the way, do you have a bridge you'd like to sell me cheap?

"Fixing her lipstick."

"You don't suppose.?"

"What?" 

"You don't suppose she's with Toby?"

"Nah. Just putting on mascara. She'll be out here any minute." Sam is really nervous for some reason. 

"She and him don't have a thing do they?"

"A thing?"

"Yeah. A thing."

"Not a you and Donna thing, no."

"What d'ya mean, 'a me and Donna _thing_'?" See? I told you! Happens all the time. 

"You guys have a **thing**," Sam said very pointedly. 

"We do **not** have a thing." I think I was making my consternation known, through body language and tone of voice. Sam was not picking up on this. 

"If Sergio didn't exist, would you have brought Donna here tonight?"

If that wasn't a question out of left field. What the hell did he mean, "if Sergio didn't exist"? I really had no desire to get into an existential debate with him now. Leo was going to have my ass and Toby and CJ were nowhere to be found and I really wanted another crab puff

Goddamn it, _yes_!

I didn't respond to Sam. As usual, he jumped to his own conclusions. "See? Told. You. So."

I hate it when he's right even when all evidence is to the contrary and he makes assumptions he has no business doing. Subtext, indeed. Oh well, if I was going to have to feel like hell, I was dragging him down with me. 

"Toby's gonna kill you for messing with the speech."

"Yeah," Sam replied, gulping down the rest of his champagne.

Okay, so I had gotten pretty much nowhere at all. So I decided to follow Sam's example- I accosted a waiter and grabbed a champagne flute before anyone could stop me. 

If Donna had been there, she would have taken it from me and given me a lecture on my delicate system before I had time to swallow the first sip. 

If Donna had been there I don't think I really would have needed the drink. 

****

I felt like a girl being chauffered to the prom by her parents. I was stuck in the backseat of Toby's car, listening to Toby complain about how Sam was going to mess with his speech and threaten him with all kinds of inventive torture methods and other forms of bodily harm, while CJ made sarcastic comments about his temper. 

Beggars can't be choosers, I told myself. Beggars can't be choosers

"I will bludgeon him with a soup tureen."

"And serve him as an appetizer, along side the lobster bisque."

I had a strong urge to ask "are we there yet?" but had a feeling that wouldn't be wise. 

When we got there (finally!), Toby bolted from the car ready to save his prose from the mutilation of one S. Seaborn. I managed to hold back CJ.

"Uh, CJ?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?" Damn, it was harder than I thought. 

"Shoot."

"It's kinda personal and all, so if you wouldn't mind, like not telling anybody about this"

"I swear on the latest issue of Vogue, in honor to the sisterhood, just you and me and the asphalt will know."

"Okayuh, why did you bring me here? Why go through all the troubleto set this upthe gown and the shoes and the hair and"

"Because you're my friend! Because I'm a nice person! Because if you and Josh don't get this out in the open, I will eat my foot."

"Me and Josh? Out in the open?" 

"He loves you, Donna."

"He's my boss!"

CJ sighed and began her rant. "So what? What does it matter- you both work for the same person, the same government. Keeping this unresolved can only hinder the job- unless you start the hanky panky games in the office then of course, things could slow down even more, but who's gonna notice? It's the federal government!"

"It's not like that," I said in a small voice. 

"It is exactly like that."

"We're friends, okay? _You're_ friends with him."

"Not like _you're_ friends with him."

"He- he doesn't-" He couldn't give a fig about me. This I know. Why, if she's so perceptive about my feelings, doesn't she see his?

"Yes. Yes he does."

"Joey Lucas-" I expostulated before she cut me off again.

"Is on a plane back to California."

"I know."

"Well, there you go." 

"No, I knew she was gone but Josh-"

"Would really have preferred to go with you if you hadn't started this whole Sergio business- which is only the act of a melodramatic, unrequited lover."

"I am not melodramatic!" I said indignantly. 

"You're not unrequited either." With a smile, she continued, "I'm going in. You coming?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm coming. You're sure you don't notice the shoes?"

"Not at all, but then it's kinda dark out here."

"Yeah," I said, as I stumbled along behind her towards the entrance.

I got in with no problems- mostly because I was with CJ, I think- though I have to give Mrs. Landingham some of the credit- the guy did have me on his list. As soon as I entered the room, I wished I hadn't. It was more grand than I had hoped- and being here, in unfamiliar clothes, and surrounded by unfamiliar people- well, my notable sang froid basically flew out the window. 

Margaret was the first to notice me. 

"Donna! What are you doing here?" And then in more hushed tones, "Where's Sergio?" 

"Where you left him- in his cage," I said wryly. "Whatever happened to cruel and unusual punishment?"

"Well- he **is** a very big dog"

"Uh-huh," I said, unconvinced, crossing my arms.

"I felt bad about leaving him therein the cage without someone in the house. You know, like in the background. For reassurance."

"I see." Actually, I didn't but then, this was Margaret, folks. She once called me up at 2:30 in the morning, absolutely terrified that she OD-ed since she took 4 Advil at once, and wanted to know if she should go to the ER to get her stomach pumped. 

That was a long night. And I didn't really didn't want to know her explanations of why she felt she needed someone to be there while she was at the ball. I was taxed enough already this evening. 

The point is- she wasn't angry with me, and she was glad I came and proceeded to point out the cute Czech ambassador, who was happened to be getting a drink at the bar. 

It wasn't until he turned around that I got the full effect (up to that point I could only say to Margaret that yes, he was tall, and yes, his butt was reasonably cute). He was gorgeous- dark eyes, dark hair that kind of fell on his forehead in that way that makes you want to just run your hands through it and slick it back. Hmmm

And I realized that I really should go and get myself a drink. I mean, with everything else I had been through tonight alone Yep. I definitely deserved a drink. 

So I walked up to the bar and placing myself next to him, I ordered politely from the bartender. 

"Hello," he said, speaking with a rich accent. Oooooooh.

"Hello," I replied. Keep it cool, Donnatella.

Then after I got my drink, he introduced himself. "Jan Tribelski, Representative of the Czech Republic." Not only that, but when he did it- he bowed and kissed my hand. I could get to love that. 

If only Josh could do that- "Donnatella, thank you for this file folder" then you know, bow and kiss my hand. That would be great. I might even bring him coffee if he did that

So I introduced myself: "Donnatella Moss, pleased to meet you."

"What do you do, Miss Moss?"

"Me? I'm an assistant" Here's where things got sticky. If I mentioned Josh, will he get pissed off? Considering their past history? "To a senior aide," I finished. Let him figure that one out. 

"Ah. So I see. Are you enjoying yourself this evening?"

"I just got here but everything seems lovely."

"It is a very good party, but I have yet to see the President."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll want to see you eventually."

"Yes. It does not matter since I have such pleasant company in the meantime," he said, smiling down on me. 

I think even my toes were blushing. 

And then, after I had finished my drink, and he had finished his, and I knew more about some small city called Cesky Krumlov than I would ever care to know (and I'm sure the same goes for him concerning Madison, WI)- he asked me to dance. 

Had I any sense, I would have politely refused. But no, I decided what the hey? And trying to disguise my shuffling feet, I let him lead me to the floor. 

****

I was working on my second champagne flute when I ran into Sam again. 

"So Toby's back then?" I said, looking at Sam's frazzled countenance. 

"I'm lucky I can still walk."

"Yeah." And he was too. 

"CJ too?"

"Oddly enough. But she was no help- she probably would have handed Toby the bat to break my kneecaps."

"And you don't think they have a thing?"

"No. I just think she's sadistic."

"Okay, I can see that. But the speech goes on?"

"And completely without imagery," Sam nodded.

"There's always the next one." Tried to be hopeful. I mean, while I might deserve to feel like hell, Sam surely didn't deserve the rest of his adult life in a wheelchair because of a few sentences. 

"If I'm not dead by then." 

I raised one eyebrow.

"He was very threatening." My eyebrow remained high. "More than usual." 

"So when do I bite the big one?" God, I **hate** apologizing. It's soo I don't know, un-Lyman. I have a myth to promulgate. We are always right. We are without fault. We never utter the words "I am sorry".

"Yeah- Leo says in five minutes, go get him, apologize- _nicely_- and without saying any more than you have to, take him that room," Sam pointed, "for his time with the President. Then he'll do the speech."

"Okay." 

"Five minutes."

"Yeah," I nodded, and polished off the rest of the champagne. 

So, my moment of doom had come. Great. Just grrreat. As I was walking on the perimeter of the dance floor, hoping to spy a waiter with either crab puffs and/or champagne, I saw the Czech dude dancing. 

Good. Now I knew where to find him in four more

Oh. My. God.

Donna?

****

So, it was kinda nice, waltzing with _Jan_, but he started to get kinda creepy as the dance progressed. I think maybe Czechs have a thing for blonds or something but he started making all kinds of suggestions. At first they were interesting. Then they were as funny as they were physically impossible. At that point- they were dead out frightening. 

Making a fast getaway seemed to be in order, but we were kind of deadlocked, and (curse the damn shoes!) I thought I would be pretty slow in my retreat. Besides, he had taken my right hand in some kind of death grip and would not let go. 

I mean, it's all well and good to flirt with a girl- but this was **not** a simple flirtation goin' on. I speak from experience. I thought I was going to get nail marks on my wrist. 

This was bad on so many levels. As if we hadn't offended the man enough.

Personally, at that juncture, I really couldn't have cared if we offended him a lot more- he was beginning to piss me off almost as much as he scared me. But Josh didn't need another strike against him

Polite declinations, Donna. Surely you know some of those?

"Maybe we should sit down."

"Maybe later," he said, whiskey breath hot on my face. Ugh ugh ugh.

"I think I'm thirsty."

"You just had a drink. And my room is sure to have something that will please you."

Okay, all hands were not accounted for. This was sooooo not good. Not good, not good There was a hand on my ass and I was sooooo in trouble now.

"Umm, maybe we could just sit out a couple minutes, you know, catch our breath and all that"

"No!" he clenched my hand tighter.

"Ow! Could you like stop that please?" See, please? I was polite enough. 

EEK! Movement down below! "What, this?" he slurred.

"Yes."

Whoa. That almost sounded like

And I turned straight into

Josh.

****

I could not friggin' believe it. Donna. Was. Here. At the embassy ball. (And it wasn't the champagne talkingor seeing, rather) Dancing with the slimiest scumbag ever to cross the Atlantic. 

She hadn't met him when he came to my office and I was glad about that. He was slick down to the bone, but he was a gomer at heart. An evil, evil gomer. With a political cause that really wasn't all that important in comparison to educating several million American children- so you could say that I was kind of biased against the pompous son of a bitch.

I figured it could do no harm to go over and grab him for his meeting just a bit early of Sam's five minutes.

As I got close to them, I could smell the liquor. I, of course, assumed (rightly, I might add) that this interesting smell was emanting from him- Donna that plastered? Yeah, right- and also noticed, without a small degree of anger, that he was feeling up my assistant. 

He was dead. 

Dead. 

She had a desperate look on her face, and seemed to be trying to get out of this weird shuffling waltz they were doing. My heart wrenched at the sight of it, and I thought I would topple over. 

Oh, boy. This man was toast. Burnt. To a crisp. 

"Ow!" I heard her say. This man caused Donna to cry out in pain. Icy calm maybe I could borrow Toby's bat. Or I could just break his face instead of his kneecaps"Could you like stop that please?" 

"What, this?" the bastard said, practically drooling on her.

" **Yes**," I said, through clenched teeth. 

Donna's head whipped around in surprise. 

I grabbed his hand from (well, never mind on what part of Donna it was on- it wasn't supposed to be there) and pulled him away from her. 

He relinquished his hold on her hand and she stood there in silence, her eyes moving back and forth from me to him. 

"Mr. Lyman," he hissed at me. "Again you insult me."

"And I hope it will not be the last."

I have this slight problem. Call it an issue of foresight. I shoot my mouth off all the time and though it has caused some people to have violent impulses, the people I know never act on them. 

Which is how I got sucker punched by a drunken Czech ambassador. 

****

Josh fell backwards and hit the floor with a thud. Down and out. Cold. 

I felt nauseous. Jan was grinning at me again and advanced toward me. 

Fine. You want me? You got me, pal. 

And I walked up to meet him, shoving a fist in his face. 

That really, really really hurt. A lot. Majorly. They never show how much it hurts to do that in the movies. But, damn, if it didn't feel if I had broken every single bone in my hand.

It felt wonderful. 

He reeled back, and blood started to spurt from his nose. He saw the red on his fingers, and fainted dead away. 

Great. My first ball and I ended up injuring two men (albeit one indirectly) and causing a ruckus on the dance floor. This is probably why they don't normally invite me to these things. 

I knelt down, and picked up Josh's head in my lap. I decided it would be useful if I applied some tactile stimuli to his face. 

CJ and Sam ran over to where we were, as many of the dancers had cleared a little circle around us, and began asking after me and Josh.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I kept repeating. 

Josh groggily opened his eyes. "Where is he?"

"Over there," I motioned to the floor beside him.

"Did I get him?"

"No."

"I wouldn't piss her off in the future," cracked CJ. "She can throw a mean right hook."

"You! You knocked him out?" he said, still dazed. Whether from the punch or knowing that I kicked some Czech ass, I'm not sure which. 

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Nothing injuredbut my pride."

"And you're gonna have a hell of a shiner tomorrow," said Sam, helping me lift him back on his feet. 

Leo came out of a back room somewhere and bellowed, "What the hell is going on?"

As Josh walked over to him, assisted by Sam I must add, Leo grimaced. " I knew it, I _knew_ it. What did you do, Josh?"

"You should get a doctor."

"You've looked worse," Leo growled.

"No- for the ambassador."

"Oh dear God."

So as CJ got ice for Josh's face and Sam escorted him somewhere to cool off, Leo went about ordering people around to move the ambassador from the middle of the floor, I went in and much to my embarrassment, had to explain everything to the President. 

"I thought you weren't even coming," he said finally.

"I probably shouldn't have," I replied glumly. 

"No, no. It wasn't your fault. And it's one less jerk I have to meet with. Josh was right about the whole stupid thing anyway- Leo just gets hung up on diplomacy sometimes."

Leo then entered the room. "How's he doing?" asked the President.

"Well, Mr. President, it seems that the ambassador will be returning home with a broken nose."

Though I'm ashamed to admit it, after he said that, I thought: All riiiiight!

"He got what he deserved. Let's go offend some more people, shall we?" he said, picking up his papers, and being escorted out of the room by Secret Service. 

Leo and me just kinda stood there looking at each other for a few minutes. 

"Does your hand hurt?" he asked finally.

"Yes." For indeed, breaking a man's nose does put some wear and tear on the knuckles. Mine looked like they had been raked across a cheese grater. 

"I think CJ has some extra ice"

"Leo, I am so sorry."

"It's not your fault. And though I would really like it to be, it isn't Josh's either," he sighed. 

"If there's anything I can do"

"Go get some ice."

And when Leo uses that voice, you better do what he says otherwise, **you** could end up with a broken nose. 

So I went off to find CJ and Sam and Josh. 

****

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. 

I felt like shit. I felt like someone had run over my face with a Mack truck. Twice. Once going forward and then backing up.

"You are such a baby," CJ said.

Sam had left me to go witness the speech- for whatever results there may be. Quite frankly, I thought, after that display we already created this evening, what are a few little words gonna do?

Seriously.

Arroyo will be able to tell her fellow countrymen that the assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff should not be trifled with and probably won't even listen to what the President has to say.

That could be a good thing- depending on whether you ask Toby or Sam.

"Hey, I'm injured! You could at least pretend to me nice to me," I said.

"Fine, Mr. Macho-Macho Man. D'ja know Donna broke his nose?"

"She broke his nose?" Oh dear. And to think, an hour ago I only needed to worry about the possibilities of Leo and CJ killing me. Now I get the pleasant thought that any day should I rub Donna the wrong way, she could belt me one and my profile is ruined forever. 

"Yep."

"The press are gonna have a field day with that one," I observed.

"Yes, indeed, they are."

"Think there'll be like an earthquake or something later tonight?" A guy can only hope. 

"Nope, I think the broken nose will be page one." She was frightfully calm about the whole thing. That's even more scary than when she's screaming bloody murder. 

"Great. How is she?"

"Fine, I suppose. She seemed utterly calm about the whole thing."

"He wasgroping her, CJ." God, and it's just as painful to say as it was to witness.

"Yeah. He was out of line."

"Bastard," I mumbled through my ice. 

"He got what he deserved- and that's what the press is gonna print, so help me." 

"Good. Isis Leo pissed?"

"Honestly, I don't know. He sure seemed to be. But everything's gonna be fine."

"Yeah." I was not convinced. And she didn't seem all that certain either. 

We sat in silence for a little bit, me dripping with melted ice and her contemplating the folds of her gown.

"Why was she even here in the first place?" I said angrily. "I thought she was out with, you know, _Sergio_"

"Sergio was a dog."

"I thought that only applied as ugly for women"

"No, a dog dog."

"A dog dog?"

"A very big dog, as I have the occasion to witness him."

"What?"

"Me and Toby rescu-er, intervened earlier to get her here."

" **What?**"

In my absolute horror, I failed to notice the door to the room slowly open and remained cracked, providing only a glimpse of black silk and blond hair. 

"She was doing a favor for Margaret- and things got out of hand."

"That seems to be the theme for the night," I said wrily. I couldn't believe it- she had lied to me. Donna, my Donna, who I got a shiner for, she _lied_ to me. 

"It's not her fault, you know. If you would have only asked her, like prior to three days beforehand"

"You're saying this is all **my** fault?"

"I'm saying that if you had any sense at all, you would have asked her when you got the invite months ago. That you owed her that much. That if you don't stop acting like an asshole all the time, you're gonna lose her."

"How did I get to be the bad guy in this? I wasn't the one who **lied**, the one who broke his nose"

CJ got up in disgust. "Fine, Josh. Fine. It's not your fault." She hustled off to the door, skirts swinging angrily side to side. "You don't deserve her." 

She flung the door open and who should be there but.

Donna. 

Just before she ran away in tears. 

****

I couldn't believe it. Out of all the things to happen tonight, all incredibly bad, this just had to be one of them. 

Josh couldn't be more bitter or more angry at me. Oh, the love rays just spew forth, don't they, CJ?

He hates me now. He absolutely loathes me. I have made him look like a fool in front of his friends, his colleagues and his boss. Not to mention to all of the Phillippines. 

And if that weren't bad enough, CJ spilled the beans about Sergio. Sam apparently did not take the trouble to bind her to the same oath to which I had enlisted him. 

This was a nightmare. 

I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to get out- I had to leave. I rushed past CJ and was headed for the back door when I suddenly remembered that my car was still at Margaret's sister's house. 

Damn it all to hell.

So, I double backed and hauled it to the front, hoping I could find a cab. When I got to the front door, the doorman was giving me an odd look. Geez, as if he's never seen a hysterical woman before. 

So I decided I was much better off hailing my own cab and dashed down the embassy front steps. 

It is very difficult to dash down steps in shoes that are three sizes too big for you. So I lost one and ended up carrying the other, continuing my mad dash down the street. 

I stopped at the corner to catch my breath. No cabs. No friggin cabs anywhere. 

I firmly resolved to write an inflammatory letter to the transportation department, and cursing, turned the corner to look down the side street. 

No taxis in sight. Not a one. My feet were starting to hurt, I felt bad for losing one of CJ's shoes, and my dress was beginning to drag on the ground. 

Not to mention the throbbing hand and the straggling hair and the broken heart. 

Yeah. I was a mess. I bet if any cabs were out there to be had, that they wouldn't let me in for fear of their lives. 

So I rounded another corner. And who should be coming out of the embassy back door but

Yep. You guessed it. 

Josh.

I saw him and he saw me and we both proceeded to freak out. I ran in the opposite direction and he ran after me and I finally just stopped, standing by a streetlight and feeling so unbelievably tired that I thought I would fall flat on my face. 

"Donna?"

I turned around to face him. 

We just kind of stood there, looking at each other warily under the warm light. 

Well, I sure as hell wasn't speaking first. 

He glanced down at my hand, clutching CJ's black suede heel. 

"Where's your other shoe?"

And this is where, I believe, you came in.

****

TBC.


	7. Happily Ever After?

One Lonely Shoe Part 7/

One Lonely Shoe Part 7/7

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimers n' stuff: see parts 1 + up 

*****

"Where's my other shoe?" I repeat dumbly. I had lost grip of the entire situation: I had no idea if I still had a job- after the fiasco with the ambassador; I was clueless as to exactly how my boss felt about the said fiasco- except to know that it most likely was not in my favor; I did not know whether I should disclose why I came to the stupid ball in the first place and I certainly was without inspiration insofar as the precise location of my (well, CJ's) left shoe. 

"You lost your shoe?" Josh asks, and I see the corners of his mouth quiver as if he's trying not to smile. 

"CJ's shoe," I correct him, gesturing with the right one that I carried.

"CJ's shoe?"

"These are her shoes, and yes, I lost the other shoe."

"Why are you wearing CJ's shoes?"

"Cuz mine didn't match the dress."

"You didn't have any black shoes?"

"No, not with me at the time."

He gives me a look of amused exasperation and then wiped his hands across his face. He turns and looking down the street, he finally speaks again. "Where's Sergio?"

"At Margaret's sister's house. In his cage." I figure by now somehow he must have gotten wind of the whole situation- he didn't refer to Sergio as the Butter Man. 

"CJ says he's a pretty big dog." He is so not happy with me. I can hear it in his voice. 

"That he is."

"Why didn't you tell me! You- you-" He's so pissed off he's incoherent. Good- cuz I have my own score to settle. 

"I told you I had plans and you spun the rest of the web yourself. Besides, you probably would have just mocked me anyway."

"I never-"

"You **always**, without fail, decide that when I have a date, it is priority number one to make me feel completely and entirely without self worth. 'Oh, Donna how's the gomer?' " I mimic, feeling my cheeks getting redder and redder. "Friggin' passive aggressive snarking all the time! Every time, Josh, every time, you give me those pity speeches about how you hate to see your assistant being such a _failure_"

I look at Josh. He's not looking at me. Apparently the street sign on the next corner is utterly fascinating, because his attention is rapt and totally directed toward it. 

He's not talking either. He's not interrupting and he's not contradicting me. 

This is soooooo not good. 

I decided it was a good idea to sit down. 

"Joshua, Joshua, Joshua," I sigh, as I try to arrange myself in a lady like position against the lamppost. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I'm sitting down."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to sit down and we are going to have a little talk."

"Here?"

"Yes." 

Amazingly enough, he sat down. 

I can't imagine if people happened to pass by at that particular moment what they could possibly think. Just a man and a woman, both elegantly dressed, sitting on a street corner half turned away from each other and staring silently into space. 

Yeah, weird, huh? Only in my life.

"So. Let's talk."

"Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not sure."

"Okay."

Another lengthy pause. For two people who spend every day of their lives walking and talking together, this sitting in silence was way too much. So of course, we both decided to start talking at the same time, and got into an argument as to who goes first. 

Thank goodness for rank, that's all I have to say. I made him go first.

"Donna."

"Hmmmm?"

"You're not a failure, you know."

"Of course I know. My question is, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Know I'm not a failure? Can it penetrate the ole Lyman membrane that maybe, just maybe, though I have made some mistakes in the past, that I know what I'm doing insofar as my personal life is concerned?"

"You have made some mistakes, though."

"Yes."

"Like Dr. Freeride."

"I concede."

"And Todd."

"And Todd."

"And that other dude- you know, the one with the hair?"

"JOSH! This is exactly what I'm talking about!"

"You lied to me about Sergio."

"Yes. Yes I did."

"I'm still mad about that."

"Cuz he's not the butter gomer you had fantasized him to be?"

He grins. "Case in point, right?"

"You betcha."

"Are you okay?"

"Sure- a bit cold, maybe and a still a bit angry at someone, but overall, just fine."

"The ambassador"

"Josh- I'm fine." 

"Okay. Okay," he breathes. "You know something? I'm glad you came."

"It's better than getting mauled by a two ton greyhound."

"So what exactly did happen?"

"Long story, Josh."

"I got time."

"No, you don't."

"I have plenty of time," he gestures with his watch.

"Not with that time piece you don't."

"You've had your share of getting rescued tonight, haven't you?" Ooooh, treading on dangerous ground now, Joshua. If CJ were here, you probably wouldn't still be breathing. 

"What?" I ask in my best feminista indignant voice. 

"A regular damsel in distress."

"Excuse me? _Who_ punched out Jan? It's okay- you didn't see it, you were unconscious at the time- ME. Me, me, me. All by myself."

"And I shall live in fear of the reputed Moss right hook."

"Damn straight."

****

It was nice, sitting there on the street corner talking with Donna. At one point, we just started talking about random things like we always do and normalcy set in again. Though I knew I didn't want normalcy anymore. I didn't want to go to work with Donna everyday and carry on meaningless conversations in the hallways and get into tiffs when she went out on a date. 

I wanted to **be** the lucky gomer. Hell, I think by this point I qualify as gomer. And I'd be damn lucky too if she'd have me after what I've put her through. 

"We should go back inside," she said, rubbing her arms.

This is where I did the very gallant gesture of giving her my jacket. She laughed at me. I mean, she friggin' **laughed** at me. I was being the typical genteel gentleman and she was almost in tears with laughter. 

"Pierce Brosnan always gives his leading lady his coat," she got out between giggles.

"I outrank him. Take the damn coat."

"Thank you," and with a flick of her hair- a very dramatic gesture- probably something akin to what some Bond girl at one point or another has done- and took the coat.

"You're welcome."

We walked to the corner of the embassy- the front steps were a mere twenty feet away, when I had to stop her.

"What?"

"Donna"

"What?"

"I'm-I- I'm sorry I didn't invite you to the thing tonight. It was wrong of me."

"That's okay- really-"

"Donna, no, it's not okay. I screwed up with Mandy and I screwed up with Joey and I-I don't know what I would do if I screwed it up with you."

"With me?"

"I know that I've been the greatest asshole in the world but you gotta believe me when I tell you thatthis _thing_that we have scares the shit out of me."

"Our thing?"

"Our, you know **thing**." Please oh please let the same rumor mill that preys on me have preyed on her.

"Our _thing_."

"Don't you think we have a thing?"

"I-I-" Surprise is the only reaction I can read on her face. Too late to stop now

"Cuz though I have on a number of occasions vehemently denied it, I would that is I would be I would like to have a thing with you."

She smiles. "Well, you see, that's a very odd coincidence indeed, because I came here tonight expressly for the purpose of dancing with someone who, perhaps, I could have a thing with."

"Really? Well, then, we really should go inside." Yes. Yes. Now. Immediately. To the dance floor. Now now now. 

"Uh-huh. But, just so you know, I could never date someone who is cowed by a filing cabinet."

"Kay. And just so you know, I could never date someone who dislikes very, very large dogs."

"Well, then. I guess we won't date."

"No, we'll just see each other all the time and have lots of sex."

"I guess so."

"Though, truth be told the filing cabinet really is possessed"

"Shut up, Joshua," she said, drawing me close. "You owe me a dance." 

The least I could do was to give her kiss before we went inside. 

And on that street corner is where CJ's other shoe fell to the ground and was forsaken, so that Donna's real first dance (since we are not counting the ambassador for obvious reasons) at an embassy ball was with me and shoeless. 

Sam and Toby were reconciled when the President became disinclined to follow either one of their speeches and decided to improvise his own. Toby transferred his anger towards the restraining secret service agents and Sam was just thankful that _he_ hadn't been on the receiving end of the salad fork.

Leo, when later approached about his remark concerning Josh getting a date for the ball, was astonished to see it was so violently pursued as an order. "I didn't want to know the soap opera, Josh and I never will, Just don't let me read about it on the cover of the Times and I'll be happy."

The President was happy with his remarks, President Arroyo was unpleasantly rebuked but in such pleasant spirits she didn't care (possibly the wine), and the Czech ambassador, though his nose after plastic surgery did seem to be almost straight once more, never had the opportunity to visit the White House again.

CJ managed to quip her way out of the story to the press and gave herself the honorific of matchmaker of the West Wing- mostly just to see Toby grimace. 

Margaret spoke of nothing but the ball animatedly to everyone for days straight and for four days straight, did not wash the left side of her face where the very handsome Philippino bodyguard had kissed her goodnight.

Sergio was content when his master and mistress returned home and he was finally let out of his cage, giving him free reign to terrify squirrels, rabbits and small children in the neighborhood. 

To this day, the whereabouts of the shoe(s) are unknown. 


End file.
